


The Resistance, Or, Sansa Wears A Pussy Hat

by Famous_Blue_Raincoat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Activism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Accidents, F/M, Feminism, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentioned Donald Trump, Politics, Protests, Ramsay is his own warning, Terrorism, University, professor!Beric, professor!Thoros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 11:23:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10512774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Famous_Blue_Raincoat/pseuds/Famous_Blue_Raincoat
Summary: In this Modern AU, Westerosi University students and faculty plan a march to protest Donald Trump's visit to Parliament.What could possibly go wrong?Please read the Notes for a trigger warning about terrorism.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I posted chapter one of this story about a month ago. At that time, I knew I would be including a planned terrorist attack at Parliament Square. Lo and behold, a terrorist attack actually occurred. So, I deleted the chapter out of respect.
> 
> Now, I feel ready to post it again along with new chapters. If you think this will offend or trigger you, please don't read it. Also, please, do not debate politics with me in the comments section.
> 
> Thank you

It was noon on Friday, and Professor Beric Dondarrion was as eager as his students for class to be over. General Chemistry for Science Majors was his last class of the week.

“Now, don't forget your study guides are due Monday. I will not be accepting late work this time.

His stern gaze swept the class, focusing particularly on the scowling youth slumped in the back.

“Have a great weekend!”

As the students filed out, and he gathered his papers in the battered briefcase, Professor Dondarrion said quietly,

“Bolton and Stark. Stay.”

"What now? This better be important. I've got shit to blow up.”

 Beric quirked an eyebrow at Ramsay Bolton.

“Oh, really? Well, let's not have a repeat of last month’s fiasco. Your grades won't survive another suspension.”

The boy just smirked and crossed his arms.

Beric turned his full attention to the impatient young lady tapping her combat-booted foot.

“Sorry, Miss Stark.” He softened his voice for Arya, though she could be every bit as obstreperous as her classmate. “I wanted you to know the meeting has been moved up to tomorrow-”

“What?! I told you I could only come if it was Sunday! I have to work at the gym in the morning, and my folks’ll be here the rest of the day.” Her scowl rivalled Ramsay’s.

“Miss Stark, we emailed and sent you a tweet yesterday to give you time to change your plans,” the professor said reasonably. “but your campus inbox was full.”

“Who uses email, any more?” she scoffed. “And I didn't get any tweet.”

 “Yo, Dondarrion. This is fascinating and all, but I gotta go.” Ramsay headed to the door and was stopped by Beric’s hand on his shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully.

 “Hey!”

 Beric ignored him and turned back to Arya.

 “Nevertheless, we are meeting at 6:00 tomorrow night, at the usual location, and we need your help. Naturally, there will be food and beer.”

 “Ugh! Fine, I'll be there,” she said through gritted teeth before turning sharply on her heel and stalking out.

 “You're going to leave a bruise,” Ramsay whined.

 Beric released his grip and sat on the edge of his desk with a curious look on his bearded face.

 “Some people like that sort of thing.” He grinned at the Bolton kid, whose mouth was hanging open, gaping at the man.

 “Just a joke, Mr. Bolton. I asked you to stay for two reasons. First, you and I both know you aren't living up to your potential in this class.”

 Ramsay snorted. “You sound like my dad.”

 Beric winced at being compared to Roose Bolton, Westerosi University’s hated Vice-Chancellor.

 “I've seen your assessment folder, and I know you should be getting high marks in all your studies. So why aren't you? Are you bored?”

 Ramsay looked away, wondering why the man was wasting his breath with the pep talk. He couldn't possibly care.

 “Course I'm bored, listening to you drone on about covalent bonding. Did my dad put you up to this?” His eyes gleamed with suspicion.

 His instructor’s smile softened.

 “Not at all. The rest of the faculty and I avoid your father as much as possible. But that brings me to the second reason I asked you to stay. Would you like to meet with a group of us Saturday night? You heard me telling Miss Stark there will be food and drink.”

 Ramsay was confused. “Why the fuck would I want to hang out with a bunch of losers?”

 Beric’s grin was downright smug. “Because your father would absolutely hate what we we’ve got planned.”

\-------------------------

It was 6:00 on Saturday evening, and Thoros was busy setting out refreshments for the guests. He was already regretting agreeing to host these meetings.

Come to think of it, he _hadn't_ agreed, had he? His former partner had “volunteered” him, and then she had dumped him! Melisandre was a fellow R’hllor worshipper and his colleague in the Department of Religious Studies. In fact, she had recently been promoted to Chair. Technically, she was Thoros’ boss now, a factor in their recent breakup.

Despite the initial awkwardness, they had quickly settled back into an easy, if competitive, friendship.

The doorbell rang.

“Brienne, do you mind getting the door? My hands are full.”

“Sure.” Brienne was a new instructor in the Medieval History department. A serious scholar with an engaging teaching style, Thoros predicted Brienne would be a full professor in a few years time.

“Come in, come in!”

The Stark girls had arrived, along with a very tall man Thoros didn't know. He looked like some kind of heavy metal fan, with his scruffy hair and AC/DC shirt.

“How's your mum?” Brienne asked. The Stark matriarch and Ms. Tarth were friends, it seemed.

“Oh, she's busy as always. Just got elected to the board at Rickon’s school.”

The younger girl, Arya, had already made a beeline for the cooler of beer.

“Hi, Professor Myr,” she said, digging through the ice to find a Guinness.

“Evening, Miss Stark. Who is the young man with your sister? I don't recognize him.”

“Sandor? He's not a student anymore. Dropped out and got a job in construction. He's ok. Better than Sansa’s previous boyfriends, for sure. Ooh, pizza,” she said and headed to the table without another word.

The doorbell rang again, and Thoros figured he should answer it. It was his house, after all.

“Ah, Mel, Beric, welcome.” He ushered them in and was about to close the door when Tormund rushed in, panting.

“Made it! Got off at the wrong tube station and ran the rest of the way,” he huffed. “Just going to grab some lager.”

“You have to love Tormund’s enthusiasm and energy,” Melisandre purred, with a glint in her eye.

 Thoros and Beric exchanged a glance of incredulity, before the woman spotted Sansa and glided off.

“I brought wine.” Beric smiled and held up a bottle of Stormlands Shiraz. His smile faltered when he noticed the latest arrivals, Margaery Tyrell and Jeyne Poole.

“Let's find a corkscrew in the kitchen. Come on.”

 Beric eagerly followed him.

 While decanting the bottle, Thoros asked, “What was that about?”

The man closed his eyes and sighed. “Miss Poole has a crush on me, I'm afraid. She follows me around like a puppy dog. I was her advisor before she switched to the English department.”

“Some men would not have a problem with that,” Thoros chuckled mischievously. “Many a professor has ruined their career that way.”

“Not me.” Beric took a long sip of the wine. “I'm only interested in men.”

Thoros was a little taken aback, as he had not expected this. Granted, the two had only met a month ago when plans for the resistance march had started to coalesce. The humanities and sciences professors rarely mingled socially.

The man in front of him had intrigued Thoros since their first acquaintance. Beric was handsome in an unconventional way. One of his eyes was immobile, which was disconcerting. Melisandre explained that Beric lost an eye in an automobile crash as a youth and had an acrylic prosthetic. That would also explain the deep scar which cleft one cheek.

The religion professor felt himself coloring for some reason he did not understand.

“Well, I think it's time to start,” he said. “The meeting, I mean. Yes.” Thoros was flustered and downed a glass of the dry wine before hastily leaving the kitchen. He thought he heard Beric laughing softly behind him.

\----------

Sansa Stark had never considered herself a leader. She was a joiner, and an enthusiastic one, at that. But, somehow, she had become the leading voice on campus of what was being called The Resistance movement.

What had started as a series of essays in the university’s newspaper many months ago had snowballed into more. Sansa was invited to speak at a meeting of the Students for Labour club, where she met Professor Dondarrion. He served as the faculty liaison and assisted her in giving a short presentation on why Wexit would be a disaster for Westeros.

Sandor, her boyfriend for the past year, was amused at first by her growing interest in politics.

“Your parents are Tories, right? What will they think of their rebellious little girl?” he teased.

“My parents are NOT Tories, Sandor! At least not anymore. And I'm not doing this to shock anyone. I feel very strongly that Prime Minister Lannister is leading this country astray.” Sansa was angry and defensive.

Sandor looked hurt. “For fuck’s sake, little bird. You know I'm just taking the piss, right?”

“Sorry. I know. I'm just under a lot of pressure.” She embraced the man she loved deeply and hoped to spend the rest of her life with.

“Now, woman, go fix me a sammich.” He was grinning ear to ear.

“Oh, you!” she shouted in mock indignation and gave him a big thump on the backside.

This, of course, led to sex on Sandor’s ratty couch.

Sansa smiled at the memory and did not realize Beric had already called her up to speak.

“Oh! Yes.” She was uncomfortable giving speeches, but this was a small group of people, most of whom were close friends.

“Good evening!” she began. “I really appreciate you coming tonight. I'm sure most of you would rather be spending your Saturday night doing something else.”

“That's the truth,” snorted Arya from somewhere in the back.

“But instead you are here to make your voices heard. Now, each of us may be motivated by different issues, but the one thing that unites us is our concern about the direction our country is headed.”

Sansa paused to take a sip of water, and she saw Gendry slip in quietly behind Arya. Professor Seaworth had also joined them at some point.

“The issue which is closest to my heart is the way Prime Minister Lannister and his party are denigrating women. The vile language he uses to degrade his female opponents, coupled with his targeted assaults on the NHS’s funding for women’s healthcare, make me angry. Many women in this country feel the same way.”

There were murmurs of assent from the crowd, particularly Brienne and Arya.

“But there are other important reasons we are here,” she continued.

“Free speech is under assault, especially at institutions of higher learning. Some of the teaching staff at our university have been pressured to avoid criticizing the current administration. And as we learned last month, Vice Chancellor Bolton accepted a large donation from the Lannister family to endow the Chair of the Political Science Department.”

Sansa took another sip of water and saw Sandor giving her a thumbs up sign. She smiled at him before returning to her speech.

“Technically, this is legal because the money came from the family’s personal funds.

But we all know what the Prime Minister’s goal is: to curb academic freedom and influence future generations of students.

“Now, I'd like us to hear from Tormund Giantsbane, the director of the Free Folk Alliance.”

The entire group applauded heartily, and Sansa was unsure if the applause was for her or for Tormund, but it did not matter. She slipped into the spot Sandor had saved for her, and he whispered, “I am so proud of you, little bird!”

Tormund gave a brief introduction to the nonprofit he headed. The Free Folk Alliance had chapters in all the nations making up the Seven Kingdoms. Their goal was to promote tolerance for all immigrants, especially those whose ancestors were born North of the Wall.

“And as I've said before,” his deep voice booming, “calls to our hotline have increased threefold since the Tories wrested control of Parliament. We get calls from cities and villages across the nation reporting harassment and sometimes violence. Our Dothraki brothers and sisters are particularly afraid of the xenophobia this administration seems to be promoting. Thank you.”

There was another enthusiastic round of applause from the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw the door open to admit a latecomer.

“Holy shit!” Sandor exclaimed in disbelief. “What the ever living fuck is Ramsay bloody Bolton doing here?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans for the protest are finalized, and Thoros finds love in an unexpected place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for terrorism.

As Beric was about to address the group, he saw the Bolton kid slip in. He had given up on Ramsay actually accepting the invitation. The idea had been a whim, anyway, and probably not a wise one. Nevertheless, he was here.

“Alright, folks, I’ll be brief. Next Friday we will meet here at 8:00 sharp and travel to Parliament Square. There we will join the Stop Trump Coalition and many other groups, to protest Prime Minister Lannister’s invitation to the American president.”

A few quiet boos and hisses erupted at the mention of the United State’s bombastic and boorish leader.

“We need to show the Prime Minister and his cabinet that the citizens of Westeros do not support this state visit. Our leaders seem to have found a kindred spirit in Trump, and this has emboldened their implementation of regressive policies. Westeros need not go the way of the United States if we make our voices heard. Now, it looks like Sansa has something else she needs to tell us.”

Beric stepped away while Sansa stood up again.

“Right. I wanted to remind you that if you need more protest signs, Margaery and Jeyne have several, plus supplies, at their apartment. Talk to them if you are interested. Also, Professor Asshai and I have been knitting hats for you!”

Melisandre handed Sansa a large cardboard box.

“Look! Aren’t they cute!” Sansa was practically squealing with excitement as she pulled on a pink hat.

_Are those cat ears?_ Beric had no idea what these hats had to do with the protest.

Miss Tyrell came forward and donned one.

“These were MY idea! But, you know I don’t have the patience to knit, so Sansa and Professor Asshai made them.” She beamed proudly. “I got the idea at last year’s Rock the Slut Vote!”

From the back of the room, he heard Ramsay tittering. Actually, several of the men looked uncomfortable, and Beric couldn’t understand why.

“Sansa, could you enlighten me as to what those are?”

The girl turned as pink as her hat and stuttered.

“Well, uh, you see…”

Margaery jumped in to save her friend.

“They’re pussy hats! Get it?” She giggled, as did a few other people in the room.

“Wha-” Beric started to ask for more clarification before the meaning smacked him in the forehead, and he blushed as deeply as Miss Stark. “Oh,” he said weakly.

Ramsay cupped his hands around his mouth and practically shouted.

“I don’t think Dondarrion has seen one of those!”

Scattered laughter reached his ears, but most of the students were unfazed.

Beric summoned up whatever dignity he could muster and clapped his hands together.

“Right. Refreshments, anyone?”

\---------------------

“Was it really wise to invite Ramsay?”

Thoros was munching on potato chips in the kitchen with Beric.

“Probably not.” The man had a rueful smile on his face. “But he didn't stay for long, did he? No harm.”

“But if his father found out we would all be fired!” Thoros shuddered at the thought and took a large swig of ale.

“I don't imagine that Ramsay ever volunteers information to the old man. They seem to loathe one another.”

“Why invite him in the first place?”

Beric screwed up his face, finished his potato crisps, and looked at the ceiling.

“I suppose I feel sorry for the kid. He seems lost and in need of guidance. He's quite smart, you know.”

Thoros raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “Lost” isn't how he would describe the Bolton boy. More like psychopathic.

“May I stay and help you clean up?” Beric offered, changing the subject.

“That would be great. Thank you. I didn't want to ask any more of Brienne.”

Thoros found himself oddly nervous about being alone with the chemistry professor, who seemed to be gazing intently at him with his one good eye.

“Come on,” smiled Beric, “let’s chase the stragglers off.”

\----------

“Sandor, I told Brienne and Professor Seaworth they could join us at the pub. Hope that's alright.”

The big guy considered it for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine by me.

By the time they arrived at Iron Isle Brewpub, the professors were already at a small table.

“Sansa! So pleased you joined us. You did a fabulous job at the meeting. And those hats!”

Brienne pulled her knit hat out of her spacious bag and donned it, laughing.

Sansa was glad the ladies had been appreciative of their efforts. Now if only some of the men would wear them.

“Do you want one, Professor Seaworth?”

The older man ran a hand through his gray hair and winked.

“Why not? Give us one, then. I'm sure Stannis will love it.” He wiggled his eyebrows and chuckled at the thought of his straightlaced partner seeing the hat.

“Davos, I can't believe Stannis is letting you go to the march.” Sandor was grinning broadly at the man.

“Letting me? I'd like to see him try to stop me.” Davos huffed. “I think you are mistaken as to who wears the pants in this family.”

Everyone at the table tried to suppress their laughter.

“Anyway,” said Davos, changing the subject, “Professor Tarth and I were just discussing teaching a class together next year.”

“Yes!” Brienne’s eyes lit up. “A maritime history course.”

Sandor glanced at his girlfriend and tugged his right ear. Sansa recognized this as their signal for “I'm bored, let's get out of here.”

Standing up, Sansa said, “I'm sorry, but I just remembered I have to meet my mom for breakfast tomorrow at 7 a.m. I should go to bed early.”

As they were walking to the tube station, Sansa grabbed her hat and tried to put it on her boyfriend’s head. He was too quick and grabbed her wrist.

“Oh, come on! You’re going to wear my pussy hat, aren't you?”

Sandor gave her an exaggerated leer.

“You've got that half right, girl.”

\--------

“What is that infernal noise?!”

Beric’s iPhone was trilling its usual morning alarm, far too early for a Sunday. His head was pounding with a rare hangover.

“How much did I drink last night?” he thought out loud.

“Not as much as I did,” said a quiet voice from his left.

Beric whirled around in shock, which did nothing good for his splitting head.

“Oh...um, good morning?”

Thoros was in bed next to him, eyes averted, sheets pulled up to his chin like a virgin.

Which, Beric thought, had pretty much been the case until last night.

“Good, yes. Morning.” Thoros looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Beric was unsure what would put the man most at ease.

“I assume you have a coffee maker. Shall I go make some?”

Thoros seemed grateful for the diversion and nodded.

In the kitchen, Beric leaned heavily against the counter and massaged his temples and forehead.

_This is going to be awkward,_ he feared. He hoped he had not pressured the man. Thoros had said “I'm not gay” a few times during the night, but this was always followed up by some action on his part. A kiss, a touch, tentative exploration…

_The gentleman doth protest too much_ , he thought ruefully. It wouldn't be the first time a night of passion was followed by desperate disavowals of a gay or bisexual identity. It was getting old.

Thoros shuffled into the kitchen already fully dressed, hair wet from what must have  
been the world’s quickest shower. He managed to make eye contact.

“The coffee smells great. Thanks for making it.”

“Sure.” Beric hesitated. “Well, I suppose I should go soon. There are papers to grade and signs to make.”

To his surprise, the man looked disappointed, not relieved.

“But,” Beric ventured, “maybe I could take you to breakfast first?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions of sexual identity plague Thoros. And just what is that Ramsay kid up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for terrorism. And car wrecks.

The week was a blur to Thoros, whose circuits were overloaded with confused emotions, soul searching, and, yes, lust.

Sunday and Monday found him reciting a mantra in his head, usually in the shower. _I'm not gay_. _I'm not gay_.

By Tuesday, it was _I'm not gay, am I_? _But if not, why, why, why can't I stop thinking about Beric?_

On Wednesday night, a night spent exploring his partner and himself, Thoros had an epiphany. _It doesn't matter what I call myself_. The only thing that mattered was that he was ridiculously, surprisingly, and overwhelmingly _happy_.

\--------

“Professor Dondarrion? May I talk to you for a second?” Sansa was standing in his doorway after his last class had been dismissed.

“Come on in, Miss Stark. What can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s probably nothing, but…” Sansa was not sure she should be saying anything. He might think her foolish, or worse, a busybody.

“I was studying last night in the seating area at the end of the hall, and I saw Ramsay Bolton leaving your classroom. When he saw me, it looked like he stuffed a bottle or something up his shirt, and he abruptly turned away.”

The professor mused on this.

“My door is always locked after hours. I keep dangerous chemicals in this closet. It's always locked, as well.”

He went to the closet to check the lock. It broke apart after a gentle tug.

“Do you think this is a problem, Professor?”

Beric had a strange look on his face.

“Quite a problem, Sansa,” he said and raced out the door.

\---------

“Godsdammit!” Beric screamed, flying down the road in his rusty Vauxhall.

The supply closet was missing a few items. Those items just happened to be ingredients used in explosive devices.

_I should have seen this coming,_ he castigated himself.

Ramsay had been behaving oddly all week, though that was pretty par for the course for the boy. When Beric asked him on Monday what he thought of the meeting and the upcoming protest march, Ramsay had grinned his usual maniacal grin and said he was excited about the “opportunities the march will provide.”

Completely distracted by thoughts of the religion professor and their budding relationship, he failed to note how strange the Bolton boy’s comment was. Or his absence today, which just so happened to be the day before the protest march.

“Learn to drive, you git!”

Normally a courteous and relaxed driver, Beric was now weaving in and out of traffic, cursing everyone on the road, in a mad dash to reach the Bolton estate.

“Thoros! Thank the Lord of Light you answered your mobile! Yes, me too, but we've got an emergency. I think Ramsay Bolton plans on detonating a bomb at the march tomorrow. No time to explain, but I'm heading to the Bolton estate now. Could you- aaaahhhh!”

[Darkness falls.]

\-------

“Beric? Beric?” Thoros was frantic. As if the scream wasn't enough, there was a terrible sound of metal scraping metal.

“Shit!” Thoros grabbed his coat and, miraculously, managed to find an Uber driver in under five minutes. “Thank R'hllor!”

The Boltons’ address was easy to find using his phone, and he directed the driver to take the most obvious route there, in hopes of coming upon the crash.

“Mister, I can't take you to an accident scene, you know. The emergency services frown on that sort of thing, and I don't want to lose my job.” In a lower voice, the Dothraki driver mumbled, “My immigration papers aren't even up to date.”

Thoros briefly thought about giving the man contact info for Tormund’s advocacy agency, but no. There was no time.

“Stop! Stop! Pull over there! Right there!”

The driver huffed and cursed, but he managed to pull his car to the shoulder.

The Red Vauxhall was almost split in two, and emergency services were already on the scene with an ambulance.

“Let me see him! Please!”

Beric was lying on a stretcher, covered with a sheet.

Thoros felt the world tilting and breaking all at once. Somehow he managed to remain upright and stumbled to Beric's side.

“Sir! You don't belong here! I'm going to have to ask you to step back.” The medic was already waving over a police officer who just arrived. “It's too late. There's nothing you can do.”

Before they could stop him, Thoros pulled the sheet back and gasped at the sight of Beric’s bleeding head and torn cheek. Without thinking, he placed his lips on his lover’s for a desperate kiss.

A strange heat flooded his body, and a feeling he would describe later as an electric shock surged through him. Slowly, Beric opened his eyes. The prosthetic one was crushed to powder. He drew a shaky breath and reached for Thoros, whose world was tilting dangerously once again.

“Thoros.” He smiled as much as his ruined cheek allowed. “You’re here.”

“The important thing is that _you_ are here. I thought you were gone.”

Beric grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.

“You must stop Bolton! Go to Roose’s house. Now. I'll be fine.”

Reluctantly, Thoros obeyed.


End file.
